Harry Potterman and the Half-Baked Latke
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: Harry Potterman knew he was different, with his incurable sarcasm and panic attacks. Finally, a large stranger reveals the truth: "You're a Jew, Harry!" Now Harry's off to Treifwarts School of Banking and Jewry, to learn such magical skills as Math, Arguing, Guilt, and more! But the castle is plagued with mysteries, monsters, and a sinister bootlegger who wants Harry dead...
1. You're a Jew Harry!

**Hi there everybody! I'm new to this whole fan-fiction thing, so let me introduce myself. I'm a proud mother of three, living in Skokie, Chicago. I recently discovered a wonderful story here on Fanfic. net, called "Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles," by Proudhousewife! I love the story's strong morals of friendship and bravery, and I **_**almost**_** considered reading it to my children! There's just one problem; I was very bothered by all the talk of Christianity in that story! I don't want my good Jewish children to grow up to be Christians! So I took the liberty of plagiarizing—er, re-writing—Proudhousewife's story, to make it more Jew-friendly! So here you have it: "Harry Potterman and the Half-Baked Latke!" Enjoy!**

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><p>Harry Potterman lived with his Aunt Petunia Sue, Uncle Ray, and cousin Michael Bob, in a quiet residential neighborhood in small-town South Carolina. He was a lanky boy with emerald green eyes blinking behind gigantic, nerdy glasses perched on an abnormally large nose, topped with a mane of black curly hair. Most peculiar about Harry's appearance was the scar in the middle of his forehead, shaped like the Hebrew letter lamed.<p>

Harry slept in the cupboard under the stairs. Not that he was forced to, mind you. In fact, his aunt and uncle had a free bedroom with a perfectly working heating and air conditioning system, and plenty of space, which they often urged Harry to move into. But somehow, Harry preferred the cupboard. "It's just so much more cost-effective, here," he would explain to his aunt and uncle. "It's exactly the amount of space I need, and meanwhile, we'll still have that free bedroom for guests, or in case you guys have another baby!" Uncle Ray and Aunt Petunia Sue would then look at each other with worried eyes, as if something were emerging from Harry that they were trying very hard to burry.

Harry Potterman's life took a dramatic turn when he was eleven years old. It was Christmas Eve, and the family was sitting around by the crackling fire, watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (the classic version, not that Jim Carrey abomination). Much as he adored Dr. Seuss, Harry could never get passed the feeling of being distinctly out of place. While his Aunt and Uncle baked Christmas cookies and other sugary pastries each winter, Harry had a strong, unexplainable craving for something deep fried and crunchy. While they decorated their Christmas tree, he couldn't help but feel like they should be doing something with fire instead. And when he and Michael Bob opened presents under the tree, Harry always found it slightly odd to try opening all these gifts in one day, and if it wouldn't make more sense to spread them out over a stretch of, say, eight nights.

His thoughts were interrupted when a giant man burst down the front door! Uncle Ray, Petunia Sue, and Michael Bob huddled behind the Christmas tree in fear. Meanwhile, Harry just stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the busted door on the floor with disbelief_. It's gonna cost a fortune to fix that!_ he thought.

But a shadow soon overtook that fallen door, as the giant man thundered into the room. Harry had never seen anyone so large in his life. The man was as wide as he was tall, with long curly brown hair, and a horrible handlebar mustache. The man was dressed in a slick leather jacket, and a Hawaiian shirt that showed far too much of his horrifically hairy chest, which was adorned with pimpin' medallions.

The giant man's bushy eyebrows turned up apologetically. "Sorry about that!" he said, in a gruff New York accent. Picking up the door, he explained, "I was gonna knock, but my bread-basket wound up getting' there first. Sometimes I think I could bear to lose a few pounds."

"_Sometimes_?" Petunia Sue said, eyeing the enormous man dubiously.

"Hey," the man straightened. "When you've got a gift like I've got, looks don't matter one bit!"

Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. But normally, when a new character enters a story, readers like to know his name."

"Harry!" Uncle Ray shot his nephew a scolding look. "Don't be sarcastic at our guest! It's not polite!"

"I'm sorry, I can't help it!" Harry apologized frantically, his attitude now swerving away from dry sarcasm into panicking-nerd territory. "I swear, I try to be a good polite Christian like you raised me! But somehow, this irritable sarcasm always just manages to tumble out."

"Of course it does!" the giant man said. "It's in yer blood, Harry! Anyway," the man thumbed to himself, "I'm Ron Jeremy, grounds keeper at Treifwarts School of Banking and Jewry."

"Grounds keeper?" Uncle Ray asked politely. "So you're what, like a janitor or something?"

"That's one of my jobs," Ron Jeremy replied. "But I also sell kosher hotdogs at sporting events, grow bananas in my garden for the school, tame one-eyed monsters, and patrol the grounds with my wiener dog."

"Hang on," Harry held up a hand, shaking his head. "Back up a few notches. What _is_ that place, Truffle School of…?"

"_Treifwarts_ School, of Banking and Jewry." Ron Jeremy corrected him. "It's where your parents were educated, and it's where _you're_ gonna be educated!"

"Now just one moment, please," Uncle Ray begged, maintaining his polite smile. "If you'll just hear me out Mr. Jeremy. We've done our best to raise Harry to be a good Christian. We swore we'd stamp it out of him."

"Stamp out _what_?" Harry asked, throwing his hands up. "My self-deprecating sarcasm?"

Aunt Petunia Sue shrugged. "Among other things…"

Ron Jeremy then took a seat by the crackling fire place. "Did you ever make anything happen Harry? Anything you couldn't explain?"

"Like what?" Harry asked nervously.

Ron Jeremy narrowed his eyes. "Did ya ever make someone feel _really, really guilty_, without even having to try?"

An instant memory popped into Harry's mind. Once, when the family had gone to the zoo for Michael Bob's birthday, Harry had engaged a Brazilian python in what he thought would be an innocent conversation. The snake had complained about being locked in a cage all the time, having people gawk at him all day, and missing his jungle home. Harry had then made an offhand comment…

"Well, at least you know where you come from. I never even knew my mom and dad."

"Oh my god!" the snake gasped. "You're an orphan? I'm so sorry! I can at least talk to my family on Skipe. I didn't realize…oh man, I feel like such an asshole, bringing up my first-world problems to you…!"

"What? No, it's okay." Harry insisted. "I'm fine, really! I don't know why I even brought it up." He shrugged. "Guess I don't get out much either. Y'know, being a loner misfit and all."

The snake only grew more upset with himself. "I'm sorry kid, I'm so sorry! Man, I was planning on breaking out of this cage and causing a freak out throughout the zoo, but that would probably get you in trouble wouldn't it."

"Well, yeah, probably." Harry admitted. "My aunt and uncle would probably think _I_ let you out."

"Oh god!" the snake shrunk into himself, grabbing his head with his tail (since he didn't have hands to face-palm with). "You're an orphan with no friends _and_ you live with an abusive aunt and uncle?"

"What? No! Aunt Petunia Sue and Uncle Ray aren't abusive, they're actually pretty nice. It's just they can be kind of overbearing at times—"

But the snake was already recoiling into its next, hiding its head in shame.

Blinking back to the present, Harry yelled at Ron Jeremy, "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear! I was just trying to strike up conversation! I don't know why, but for some reason, I can never seem to have any conversation with anyone lasting more than five minutes without making them feel horribly guilty about something."

"Uh huh," Ron Jeremy poked the fire with one of the tools. "Anything else?"

In fact, there was a _lot_. Any time the family went shopping, for example, Harry somehow always managed to find the best bargain prices, without even looking. It was as if some magical force was drawing him to the best deals. Whenever the subject of sports came up in conversation, Harry found himself immediately steering the conversation to baseball. When other boys at school gasped and giggled around posters of Megan Fox or Britney Spears, he was thinking about Barbra Streisand. He also found it almost impossible to respond to anything without some geeky panic attack or sarcastic quip.

"Yeah," Harry finally admitted. "There's a few things."

"Well?" Ron Jeremy pressed. "You wanna learn how to control that power? You wanna follow in your dead mom and dad's footsteps and go to Treifwarts, where you'll learn how to be a proper Jew?"

Harry tried really, really hard to respond in a straightforward, polite manner, as his aunt and uncle had raised him to. But instead, what came out was, "Better than sittin' here and getting fat." Quickly he added, "Er, no offense Mr. Jeremy."

Ron Jeremy laughed jovially. "None taken! You'll make a great Jew, Mr. Potterman."

"Please Harry," his Aunt Petunia Sue urged, "We would really appreciate it if you'd reconsider."

"I would strongly prefer that you didn't go to that Jewish school," Uncle Ray added.

"And _I'd_ strongly prefer that we hurry up and finish this dull prologue," Harry said flatly, "So we can get to the darned plot."

"Alright-y then," Ron Jeremy stood up. "Better get your school shopping out of the way. We're off to Bargain Alley!"

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><p><strong>AN: In case anyone is a complete frelling moron, this is a parody. I don't really have children, I'm not new to fan fiction at all, and I WISH I lived in Chicago. I'm also well aware that "Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles" is one of the greatest Trolls of the 21****st**** century, and I applaud the mischievous imp behind that story. **_**This**_** story, I am basically just writing for sh*ts and giggles. **

**This story will **_**not**_** be updated regularly. I'm going to treat it more like a series of little "episodes" rather than a novella, with maybe the vaguest hint of an ongoing plot. Don't hope for regular updates; I have far more serious fics I'm focusing my attention on. **

**Oh, and just so there's absolutely no misunderstandings, I'm Jewish, and my mother's side of the family is Christian. So all politically incorrect jokes at the two religions are just that, jokes. **


	2. Bargain Alley

**A/N: I don't own "Harry Potter"**

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><p>Ron Jeremy took Harry on a plane ride to Madison, Wisconsin, and then led him to a quaint little family restaurant, owned by a friendly but slightly weird Jewish couple. The restaurant was filled with antique toys, carnival pieces, and arcade games, with the purpose of creating a family atmosphere. However, the old quality of the toys mixed with the dim lighting instead made the place seem like some kind of demonic, haunted carnival, and gave Harry the creeps. Whoever owned this place <em>obviously<em> wasn't human.

Harry looked around the restaurant awkwardly, while Ron Jeremy searched the cluttered walls, apparently looking for something. "So, Bargain Alley is somewhere in Madison?"

"No, no, no." Ron Jeremy answered. "Bargain Alley's in New York. But the magical secret entrance is in this little, unsuspecting building! Would you believe this cute family restaurant is owned by a pair of _vampires_?"

At a table nearby, a little girl was laughing merrily at a statue of an old-fashioned Jack-in-the-Box. The girl's teenaged brother and sister were both staring at the clown with wrinkled noses, clearly just as creeped out by this place as Harry.

Slowly, Harry answered Ron Jeremy's question: "Yyyyyeeees…."

Ron Jeremy finally stopped in front of an old "Lion King" pinball machine, from the '90s. "Here we go! Now we just gotta…" he put a quarter in, and focused intently on the pinball game.

For a second, it looked like he might lose, but then he hit the coconut into the home base of Pride Rock, and the game console lit up with congratulations. The entire pinball machine then slid aside like a door, revealing a small doorway in the wall. Harry stared through the doorway in amazement. Through it he saw the skyscrapers of New York, filled with people hustling and bustling by in a hurry.

"There ya be, Mr. Potterman," Ron Jeremy said proudly. "Bargain Alley, in downtown Brooklyn."

"Wow!" Harry hopped through the doorway.

It took a few minutes for Ron Jeremy to squeeze through, and Harry had to help tug him, but finally the giant man came out of the doorway with a loud pop.

"First off," Ron Jeremy panted, "We gotta go to the bank and get you yer money!"

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><p>The "Secret Stash Bank," where all of the Jews in the world apparently stored their secret stashes of gold, was located right at the center of Bargain Alley. When the goblin banker opened the vault where Harry's parents had left him his inheritance, Harry couldn't believe his eyes. They were staring at a room <em>filled<em> with piles and piles of gold and silver coins!

"Holy molly!" Harry exclaimed. "You mean I've been rich this whole time and never even realized it?"

"Er…" Ron Jeremy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

The goblin banker (who looked remarkably like Fagin from "Oliver Twist") snorted. "Don't get excited kid. That's tin foil you're looking at."

Harry blinked slowly. "Come again?"

The goblin picked up one of the gold coins, and pulled back the foil wrapping, to reveal a disc of milk chocolate within.

Ron Jeremy cleared his throat. "This ain't yer actual money, Harry. This is the gelt yer parents planned to give you over the course of your childhood, each Hanukkah. Your actual money's over there." He pointed to a tiny wooden piggy bank, sitting in the back of the room.

Harry walked into the vault and picked up the piggy bank with a sigh. "Treif," he muttered, before unplugging the pig to shake out the money. Exactly two dollars and fifty-one cents fell into his hand.

"Don't worry Harry," Ron Jeremy assured him. "If you're the son of Leah and Josh Potterman, you'll have the fiscal skills to wring all the school supplies you need out of that two-fifty, plus a new pet!"

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><p>Naturally, Ron Jeremy was right. Before lunchtime, Harry had managed to find the best deals on all of his school supplies, and then talk the shopkeepers down to even lower prices. By high noon, he had a pile of textbooks, with labels like "Math," "Intro to Arguing," "Sarcasm 101," and "The Secret to Jewish Guilt." After that, Ron Jeremy insisted that Harry get himself a pet, and took him to the pet shop to pick one out. In a mistake that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life, he bought a cute little parrot that he named Hamantashen. Not only did the bird talk nonstop, but he did it in a loud, squawking voice with an over-the-top New York accent, that put everyone else in Bargain Alley to shame. He reminded Harry of a really annoying comedianvoice actor, whose name escaped him at the moment.

"Oh boy!" the parrot squawked, from where he sat on the pile of books in Harry's arms. "First year of school! I can't wait! I went to school once, but I got permanently expelled for telling a really tasteless joke at the wrong time! It was just after that Tsunami in Japan happened, and we were having some Japanese guests over, and everyone started talking about what they'd do on summer vacation. Then someone asked the Japanese guys if they were gonna go to the beach, and I said, 'In Japan, they don't go to the beach, the beach comes to them!' I can't believe I got expelled just for one idiotic joke! I mean okay, it was lame. I admit that. I coulda' come up with something more creative. And it might've been poorly timed…"

"Ugh," Harry rubbed his face with his free hand. "Are we done yet, Mr. Jeremy?"

"Not quite," Ron Jeremy held up a finger. "There's one last thing. Ya gotta buy a wand!"

Ron Jeremy left Harry to find a wand on his own, while he went to look around a video store. The wand shop was practically empty, save for one other boy who was trying out wands. He was Harry's age, pale and blonde, dressed in an expensive looking pinstriped suit. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about the boy's gelled-back hair, pointy eyebrows, and snobbish composure seemed to scream, "Attention audience: bad guy introduction!" Before Harry could strike up a conversation with the boy to confirm this, the geeky shop keeper hurried over to assist him.

"Welcome, welcome, to Half-Price Wands! I'll be glad to help you—"

"Ooo! Ooo!" Hamantashen squawked from Harry's shoulder. "Can I try a wand? I've always wanted to know what a real magic wand is like! I've used a hypnotic snake staff before, but never a wa—"

Harry clamped the parrot's beak shut with one hand, and replied, "I'll take a wand, and some duct tape if you got it."

After Hamantashen's beak was firmly taped shut, the shopkeeper ran to fetch a wand for Harry to try out. While he rummaged through the shelves, the blonde boy turned to Harry.

"Pleasure to meet you," the boy said, brushing invisible dirt off his perfectly clean suit. "Drecko Mamzer. You don't have to kneel just now, I can see your hands are full. Of course you know, I assume, that my father is Lobus Mamzer, the man who runs this city—_off the record_ of course…"

"Erm, actually no, I didn't know that," Harry shifted his pile of school supplies in his arms, ignoring the muffled squawks of his muzzled parrot. "I'm a bit new to this whole Jewish thing. I don't even know what I'll do with this education when I'm done with it! But since I'm the main character, I feel compelled to do something heroic. I'm thinking of maybe going into do-gooding. You know, feeding the poor, working towards world peace, that sort of thing. Maybe I can talk the Palestinians and Israelis out of killing each other!" he laughed dubiously.

Drecko Mamzer sneered. "You'd negotiate with that savage bunch of terrorists?"

Harry frowned. "I was under the impression that Palestinians were people, like Israelis."

Drecko snorted. "If you ask me, we should just nuke every Arab country on the planet, and arrest every Muslim in this one. That entire terrorist-supporting, anti-Semitic religion should be wiped off the face of the earth."

Harry gapped with disbelieve. Was this boy trolling him? Surely he couldn't be that stupid, crazy, or asshole-ish. Maybe he'd had a relative blown up by a suicide bomber; not exactly a justifiable reason for bigotry, but at least a forgivable one.

"How many Muslims have you actually known?" Harry asked patiently. "Did someone you know get hurt by one?"

"No," Drecko replied, as if Harry had asked him a stupid question. "Why would I ever have contact with any of those sand monkeys?"

Summoning all his patience, Harry retorted, "It's just funny. Cuz I talked to a Muslim lady on the flight to Madison earlier today, and she didn't support terrorism _or_ have a problem with me being Jewish! She's got a cousin who's part of a Palestinian/Israeli peace group, and I got along with her just fine! Though I think Ron Jeremy might've scared her a little bit—"

"Then she wasn't really a Muslim, was she." Drecko replied, once again brushing off his sleeve.

Harry had officially run out of patience with this twit. From the tone of Hamantashen squawking, his bird agreed with him. It was hard to tell, with his beak taped shut, but it sounded like the parrot was urging Harry to give Drecko a nice clobber over the head with his heaviest textbook. Harry was glad to oblige, but before he got the chance, the shop keeper returned with a long, wooden wand.

"Try this one," the man said. "Mahogany wood, contains the scale of a gefilte fish from the Dead Sea."

Harry gave the wand a wave, and several boxes flew off the shelves, tumbling into the floor. Drecko hopped away from the mess irritably. The shop keeper swiped the wand from Harry.

"Don't think so. Try this one."

He handed Harry a strange silver instrument, elegantly carved, with a chain dangling from one end, and a tiny pointing hand on the other.

"Uh," Harry examined the wand awkwardly. "Which end do I…?"

"Wait a minute," the shopkeeper snatched back the instrument. "That's a Yad, dunno how _that_ got in there. Okay try this one." He handed Harry another wooden wand. "Carved from a busted bimah, contains the seed of a jelly doughnut. Give it a wave!"

Harry tried the wand. This time, the wand flew right out of his hand, and put a bullet-sized hole in the glass window.

"Some Jew _you_ are," the Drecko snorted. "Your mother's probably an Italian."

Harry threw him a look, less out of offense at the insult itself than how lame it was.

The shopkeeper offered Harry a third wand. "Try this one. Carved from a baseball bat, contains one white sock from the foot of one of the Chicago White Sox."

Harry grimaced and took the wand carefully. He almost asked if the sock inside was washed, then decided he didn't want to know. He gave the wand a wave. This time, nothing bad happened. Instead, blue and silver sparks emitted from its tip, shaped like tiny glowing stars of David. Harry felt a rush of energy through his body, and could swear he was hearing dramatic music coming from somewhere close by.

"How strange," the shopkeeper mused. "I remember every wand I ever sold. The baseball player who donated his sock to this wand gave one other sock, just one. How strange that this should be your wand, when its brother was the wand that jinxed the 1919 World Quibbish Series! The same wand that was wielded by the Dark Lord, Volgenschmort . How strange when this wand's brother, why, it's brother gave you that scar!"

Harry subconsciously touched the _lamed_ on his forehead.

"Maybe you're not so bad after all," Drecko mused. "Wanna be partners in crime—er, best friends?"

Finally at the end of his rope, Harry spat, "I don't know, am I worthy to be your partner in crime? Let me just practice my hexes to see if I'm skilled enough. SHEILA-KAZING!"

Harry actually didn't know any hexes, and just blurted out something he'd heard on "Spongebob." But apparently it worked. As soon as he yelled the words and jabbed his wand in Drecko's direction, the boy was transformed into a squeaking, scuttling ferret.

Harry gave a short nod. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

His muzzled parrot mirrored his nod.

He paid the wand seller, who gave a passing glance at Drecko, but otherwise didn't react to anything that had just happened. Apparently this sort of thing was commonplace in his shop. Harry hurried out of the store before Drecko the ferret could coordinate himself and bite him.

Harry caught up with Ron Jeremy at the video shop, and spent the next few hours wondering about what the wand seller had told him. Later that day, over a snack of lox and bagels, Harry finally popped the question to Mr. Jeremy: "Who's Volgenschmort? And what's the got to do with my lamed scar?"

Ron Jeremy paused in the middle of spreading his cream cheese. Slowly, he put his bagel down, and locked eyes with Harry.

"Pay attention to this Harry," Ron Jeremy said darkly. "Because not all Jews are good." He glanced over his shoulder, as if worried someone was watching them. "Volgenschmort was a crime lord whose reign of terror terrorized New York for half a century. He was up to his neck in evil and corruption. Murder, bootlegging, gambling, prostitution, lame jokes, sending women photos of his wiener, really sick shit. Your mom and pop fell victim to Volgie's 'protection racket,' and one day they weren't able to make their monthly payment. A sad story you'd hear all too often, back then."

Harry swallowed. He realized, for the first time, that his mother and father _hadn't_ been eaten by a giant demon rhinoceros from the sky, as his aunt and uncle had always told him.

"And what Volgenschmort would do," Ron Jeremy continued, "when that happened, he'd go around the city with his henchmen, and hose his victims down with a Tommy gun. Usually with some dramatically mournful soundtrack going on in the background, and intercut with scenes of someone else celebrating a baptism or giving a speech."

Harry frowned, his eleven-year-old mind unable to grasp the "Godfather" reference.

"But _that_ night," Ron Jeremy whispered, "just when he was reaching the end of one of these killing montages, when he came to your house Harry…he killed your parents, but he couldn't kill you. You were only a baby, a cute little one-year-old baby with dorky glasses and a Jew-fro bigger than you were, but the Dark Crime Lord couldn't kill you. Instead, the bullets just made that funny scar on your face, before ricocheting off your skull and hitting Volgenschmort through the left eye."

"And killed him?" Harry asked hopefully.

Ron Jeremy snorted. "_You wish_. It'd sure be a short series if it had! No, Volgenschmort just fled to Mexico after that, and he's been in hiding ever since. But mark my words, he'll be back, probably before Chapter Four." Ron Jeremy was rambling now, talking more to himself than to Harry. "Yes, I'd bet you a lifetime supply of hamantashen he'll be back every school year, trying ta kill you, but just barely failing, so you'll live to star in another book. But when your seven years at Treifwarts ends, who knows. The author finally kill you off at the climax, just for dramatic effect." Suddenly seeing Harry's expression, Ron Jeremy added quickly, "I wouldn't worry too hard about it though. The odds of this turkey even selling well enough to warrant one sequel is dismal, much less six! Ten bucks says this saga will be over before you've hit puberty. Well, let's finish up so we can get going. Only one week before you have to get on that train to your first year of school!"

"I can hardly wait," Harry sighed.

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><p><strong>AN: The creepy family restaurant is based on a real place. I won't say the name (partially out of respect for the owners, and partially because I forgot). Every time my family visits Madison, we stop at that restaurant. Our hometown is very small and not very diverse, so when we come across a Jewish restaurant on vacation, we **_**have**_** to stop there. Unfortunately, this one is sincerely creepy. I loved it as a small child, for all the toys and decorations, but as an adult it felt like a haunted carnival. 0_0 **

**Useless trivia: "Dreck" is Yiddish for "shit" (and my Grandma is fond of that word). A couple of the other Yiddish words actually required a little research. "Mamzer" means "bastard," and "Lobus" means "little monster." **

"**Treif" means "not kosher" (and is said by Prince John in "Robin Hood: Men in Tights.") "Hamantashen" is a desert eaten on the Pruim holiday, and it's delicious. "Volgenschmort" and "Quibbish" mean absolutely nothing; I just made them up. **


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